Sequel: Paint You Wings ›
Cyan
IV
“You know what I miss?” Fawn stretched on the chair she had flopped down on after Stark had finished one of the last pieces of his supposedly miraculous arc reactor. She didn’t believe it’d work but hey, never offend anyone religious—since Stark seemed to believe more in Science than her own father had believed in God.
“What?” it was Yinsen who answered, looking up from his pathetic excuse of a meal.
“Music,” she sighed.
Stark groaned as if he’d been stabbed, nodding with a pout.
“God, yes,” he threw his head back and shut his eyes for a moment. “Loud, fast, hard music to work with.”
“Almost deaf, letting it pump through,” Fawn was about to pout when she instead rubbed her face. “And 80’s pop, man. Shit, I miss my mixtape.”
“You have a mixtape?” Stark turned around and cocked an eyebrow, amused. “What? Do you also have a Walkman?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she frowned and tried desperately not to be annoyed with him. “Bakaar has it. I’ve seen it on his pocket, every single damn time.”
“Why would you own a Walkman?” the man seemed fixed on that, probably startled that someone wouldn’t take advantage of technology like he did. “I mean, even if it was an mp3, you stole fucking plutonium and yet you couldn’t steal an iPod?”
“It’s got sentimental value, alright?” she spat back at him.
“That’s just dumb,” he scoffed. “You keep storing stuff, you end up full of junk on your lab. Sentimental value means that you just don’t want to move on.”
“You know w—”
A loud clank alerted them of the door opening and her blood ran cold, feverish panic drowning her senses for a moment before Stark hid what he had done so far between papers. But the meal had been brought to them just a few hours ago and she knew they weren’t there for Stark or Yinsen.
They were grabbing her before Yinsen or Stark could even register it. She didn’t struggle, didn’t let them see the fear that buried deep inside her eyes, that burned behind them and made her knees knock against each other.
“Hey, hey!”
Stark was an idiot. She shut her eyes tight, willing herself not to cry as she heard the billionaire grunt, possibly after receiving a punch in the gut. He was an idiot. She was an idiot. Everyone was a fucking idiot.
She heard Russian, trying not to remember why she knew it. It would just fill her with hope and hope was no good when you were being tortured. Fawn didn’t cry until the half hour mark passed and then she was crying out, trying not to scream too hard in case Stark and Yinsen were listening.
“Будет теперь вы сотрудничать?” the man leaned down, and Fawn’s vision was too blurry with pain to identify anything on his unfocused features.
But he didn’t appreciate being spat blood on his face.
“На кого вы работаете с?” they asked, over and over again.
“Никто не! Никто не! Клянусь!” she cried out.
“Расскажите о солдате, что ты знаешь о солдате!”
“Я не видел его более чем за пять лет!”
By the time they were done, she regretted ever living.
They threw her back into the cave, her body falling limp on the cold and damp floor. She heard the scrapes of chairs and soon enough, there was the comforting voice of Yinsen and a pair of calloused hands on her shoulders.
“What the hell?” she heard Stark curse multiple times.
“She was whipped, Stark, haven’t you ever heard of Afghan torture methods? What do they do to you? Push you a few minutes into a bowl of water?” Yinsen grasped her forearms and lifted her into his lap, making Fawn cry out when the muscles of her back moved and sent a wave of burning pain through her. “She probably didn’t give them what they wanted and they—check her knees.”
“What?” Stark’s voice was faint but oh, god, she couldn’t even think.
“Listen to me, Fawn, you need to stay awake.”
“I-I can’t,” she stuttered. “It h-hurts.”
“I know, dear, I know,” his hand was running through her hair, trying to soothe her but it was then that she started crying again. “Shh, shh…”
“I can’t-t do it, Y-Yinsen,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck with fading strength. “I can’t d-do it.”
“It’s okay if you can’t, you’re human, you have limits, too.”
She felt hands on her bare, bruised and bloody back and the edges of her vision began to turn white. Stark was there, cursing away as he pressed something against the wide gashes. When he pulled it away, though, she fell limp on Yinsen’s arms and didn’t make a sound anymore.
The silence that took over was deafening.
“Fawn?” Yinsen tried, and the billionaire heard the little shaken tone.
“I can see her bones,” his hand shook when he dabbed at the wound. “It’s the pain, she’s okay, she’ll be fine, she’s—”
“I know she’s okay,” Yinsen gave out a little shuddery breath. “She just needs to rest. I have some clean bandages around my workshop, at my table, on the first drawer. It’s not much but I’ve got a few antibiotics, too.”
“She’s really gonna be okay, right?”
The doctor fell into a quiet stare.
“Right!?” the panic in his voice couldn’t be masked. And for the first time he realized just how real all of it was. Captive. They could be killed any hour of any day. And if that didn’t do it, the shrapnel would for him. Yinsen had a family. Fawn didn’t look a day older than twenty two.
“Right,” Yinsen muttered.
He didn’t find any comfort in the lie.
“What?” it was Yinsen who answered, looking up from his pathetic excuse of a meal.
“Music,” she sighed.
Stark groaned as if he’d been stabbed, nodding with a pout.
“God, yes,” he threw his head back and shut his eyes for a moment. “Loud, fast, hard music to work with.”
“Almost deaf, letting it pump through,” Fawn was about to pout when she instead rubbed her face. “And 80’s pop, man. Shit, I miss my mixtape.”
“You have a mixtape?” Stark turned around and cocked an eyebrow, amused. “What? Do you also have a Walkman?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she frowned and tried desperately not to be annoyed with him. “Bakaar has it. I’ve seen it on his pocket, every single damn time.”
“Why would you own a Walkman?” the man seemed fixed on that, probably startled that someone wouldn’t take advantage of technology like he did. “I mean, even if it was an mp3, you stole fucking plutonium and yet you couldn’t steal an iPod?”
“It’s got sentimental value, alright?” she spat back at him.
“That’s just dumb,” he scoffed. “You keep storing stuff, you end up full of junk on your lab. Sentimental value means that you just don’t want to move on.”
“You know w—”
A loud clank alerted them of the door opening and her blood ran cold, feverish panic drowning her senses for a moment before Stark hid what he had done so far between papers. But the meal had been brought to them just a few hours ago and she knew they weren’t there for Stark or Yinsen.
They were grabbing her before Yinsen or Stark could even register it. She didn’t struggle, didn’t let them see the fear that buried deep inside her eyes, that burned behind them and made her knees knock against each other.
“Hey, hey!”
Stark was an idiot. She shut her eyes tight, willing herself not to cry as she heard the billionaire grunt, possibly after receiving a punch in the gut. He was an idiot. She was an idiot. Everyone was a fucking idiot.
She heard Russian, trying not to remember why she knew it. It would just fill her with hope and hope was no good when you were being tortured. Fawn didn’t cry until the half hour mark passed and then she was crying out, trying not to scream too hard in case Stark and Yinsen were listening.
“Будет теперь вы сотрудничать?” the man leaned down, and Fawn’s vision was too blurry with pain to identify anything on his unfocused features.
But he didn’t appreciate being spat blood on his face.
“На кого вы работаете с?” they asked, over and over again.
“Никто не! Никто не! Клянусь!” she cried out.
“Расскажите о солдате, что ты знаешь о солдате!”
“Я не видел его более чем за пять лет!”
By the time they were done, she regretted ever living.
They threw her back into the cave, her body falling limp on the cold and damp floor. She heard the scrapes of chairs and soon enough, there was the comforting voice of Yinsen and a pair of calloused hands on her shoulders.
“What the hell?” she heard Stark curse multiple times.
“She was whipped, Stark, haven’t you ever heard of Afghan torture methods? What do they do to you? Push you a few minutes into a bowl of water?” Yinsen grasped her forearms and lifted her into his lap, making Fawn cry out when the muscles of her back moved and sent a wave of burning pain through her. “She probably didn’t give them what they wanted and they—check her knees.”
“What?” Stark’s voice was faint but oh, god, she couldn’t even think.
“Listen to me, Fawn, you need to stay awake.”
“I-I can’t,” she stuttered. “It h-hurts.”
“I know, dear, I know,” his hand was running through her hair, trying to soothe her but it was then that she started crying again. “Shh, shh…”
“I can’t-t do it, Y-Yinsen,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck with fading strength. “I can’t d-do it.”
“It’s okay if you can’t, you’re human, you have limits, too.”
She felt hands on her bare, bruised and bloody back and the edges of her vision began to turn white. Stark was there, cursing away as he pressed something against the wide gashes. When he pulled it away, though, she fell limp on Yinsen’s arms and didn’t make a sound anymore.
The silence that took over was deafening.
“Fawn?” Yinsen tried, and the billionaire heard the little shaken tone.
“I can see her bones,” his hand shook when he dabbed at the wound. “It’s the pain, she’s okay, she’ll be fine, she’s—”
“I know she’s okay,” Yinsen gave out a little shuddery breath. “She just needs to rest. I have some clean bandages around my workshop, at my table, on the first drawer. It’s not much but I’ve got a few antibiotics, too.”
“She’s really gonna be okay, right?”
The doctor fell into a quiet stare.
“Right!?” the panic in his voice couldn’t be masked. And for the first time he realized just how real all of it was. Captive. They could be killed any hour of any day. And if that didn’t do it, the shrapnel would for him. Yinsen had a family. Fawn didn’t look a day older than twenty two.
“Right,” Yinsen muttered.
He didn’t find any comfort in the lie.